


Covert Ops

by useyourlove



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Community: bsg_kink, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-23
Updated: 2011-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-24 21:15:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/useyourlove/pseuds/useyourlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kara and Lee have some frustrations to work out on the hangar deck.</p><p>Written in response to embolalia's prompt: "Their eyes meet; he craves her."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Covert Ops

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on LJ at [wartytoads](http://wartytoads.livejournal.com/5602.html). Originally posted to [bsg_kink](http://bsg-kink.livejournal.com/295891.html).
> 
> A/N: I watched the first two episodes of the original BSG before it got to be so terrible that even I couldn't stand it. But one of the hilarious things I took from it was Starbuck making out with a whore in a Viper launch tube. I just couldn't resist.

Starbuck laughs, casting off her helmet and hopping out of the cockpit. She flounces down the steps to the hangar deck and high-fives Cally who smiles back. She's infectious. Her enthusiasm is contagious. She waits with a smirk for Hot Dog to disembark from his Viper, as he's already re-telling her latest daring escapade. She's on a high from flying and he never fails to marvel at just how alive she is after they brush so close to death. The Cylons had come out of nowhere, as they tended to do, and she had swooped in at the last second to save his ass—as _she_ tended to do.

He pissed her off so much, sometimes. He could choke her for all the ridiculous shit she pulled, coming a hair's breadth from death just because she could. One day she wouldn't just scrape her wing off on a Raider. One day she wouldn't pull out of one of those dives. One day...

Lee pulls off his helmet and methodically sets it in its place before he calmly heads down the stairs toward the melee that is Starbuck. He watches her. She knows it—sees him out of the corner of her eye. But then, she always knows where he is without having to look. She knows exactly the expression he'll have on his face. No point in giving him the satisfaction of a glance.

"What did you do to my bird _this_ time, Lieutenant?" Chief asks as he walks over, not even sounding indignant anymore when she brings back a half-trashed Viper. He calmly surveys the checklist on his clipboard before he thrusts it at her and she runs down the items in a haphazard swoop before tugging at her flight suit.

"Nothing she couldn't handle, Chief."

"Did you at least leave the engines intact this time?"

She shrugs. Not her thing. She flies 'em, she doesn't keep 'em in the air. That's his thing. She has the gloves off now, pulling at the stubborn zipper.

But she can't take it anymore. He's boring a hole right through her and she turns her attention to him, a knowing smirk and a cocked eyebrow already in place for what she knows she's going to see on his face.

Their eyes meet.

She scowls. That's not what she expected to find there at all.

Lee adjusts his face quickly—looking down, coughing, running his thumb over his lip—something to mask the raw feeling she must have caught their now. Because things like that certainly didn't belong on the hangar deck.

"Starbuck," he says, his tone a strange mixture of reproach and pain.

"Lee," she replies warily.

"I gave you a direct order to return to Galactica and you disobeyed it."

"Well, what do you want from me, Lee?" she says, clearing her throat and scratching at her chin with her thumbnail. She cocks her hand back on her hip. "You want me to just leave you out there like Toaster bait?"

"You disobeyed—"

"You know what," she throws her hands in the air—sick of this dance. This had been going on for weeks—the constant challenges and unspoken undercurrents that she both lived for and feared. " _Frak_ you, Apollo." She turns on her heel and is headed for the stairs to the catwalk. He's hot on her trail.

"Oh, no you don't, Kara. I'm not finished yet."

She turns on him, finger pointed accusingly at his chest. "Yeah well you know what? I am! I'm tired, I'm hungry, my knee is killing me, and I need a shower. I saved your _ass_ out there today and I'm not going to have you bitch me out for it just because..." She stops, closing her eyes and grunting before she heads for the stairs again.

He grabs her elbow and yanks her back down. "Because what, Kara?"

"Because you're so frakking immature that you can't handle it anymore, Apollo. You can't handle this—this life, the fighting, us. You can't—"

"Wait, wait, wait. Back up. _I'm_ immature?"

"Yeah, you know what? You really are."

"Oh, that's rich. _I'm_ immature." He makes to haul her around by the elbow, aware that half the deck hands are staring at them and all the pilots are politely averting their eyes but hanging on every word. She snaps her arm out of his grip and wraps her hand in the collar of his flight suit, dragging him with her as she heads for one of the sealed off launch tubes. It was one of those well-known but unspoken laws of the hangar deck—all dirty laundry goes to the old launch tube for an airing out. When things started to escalate, you took it somewhere else. Everyone knew the rules—things that happened away from everyone's eyes didn't happen at all.

She shoves him through the maintenance hatch and he stumbles slightly, regaining his balance as she yanks the door shut with a clang. Some of the bravado has gone out of him. But none of the electric tension. She just watches him.

"Wanna tell me what the frak that was all about, Lee?"

"What?"

"You gonna pick a fight with me after every flight now?"

"Pick a fight? Kara, _you disobeyed a direct order_. I wasn't picking a fight, I was disciplining a subordinate."

That got the eyebrow raised and the kiss-my-ass smirk again. She clears her throat and wipes her finger across her nose before she looks back at him. There it was again.

He craved her.

It makes her heart stop. She looks away, scorched by the intensity of it.

"I'm not just gonna leave you out to dry. I don't give a frak what you tell me to do. I'm your wingman."

He can feel the smile tugging at his lips. She doesn't say anything more. She's said so much already. She sucks with words and feelings and things. But when she wants to she can say an awful lot just by saying a little.

"Starbuck... look at me."

She does. He steps closer. Too close. She can feel the heat of him now. It runs a chill up her spine.

"Next time you disobey a direct order I'm throwing you in the brig."

"Next time you order me to let you commit suicide I might just let you." But he could see the hurt in her eyes to go along with her sarcastic retort.

"You're insufferable."

"Shut up, Lee."

Her mouth smashes against his—or was it the other way around? It doesn't even matter. They kiss hard, their lips bruising against their teeth.

Their hands are everywhere, tugging at resistant flightsuit zippers and peeling back the plastic like tearing into fruit. She runs her hands up under his tanks, stripping him from the waist up in one smooth motion. He pushes at the flight suit around his waist, trying to rid himself of it as quickly as possible. His hands can't seem to decide if they want to be in her hair, mashing her face to his, or stripping himself down. Then again, she's doing that for him rather nicely. She's not fumbling around as much as he is and he finds himself rid of his clothing in far less time than should be possible.

She pulls back to give him a good once over as he stands in his boxers, his eyes heavy lidded as he stares at her with pure, unashamed longing. She wants to bat it away, fend it off. Gods, she needs him. But she can't deal with any of it. Not right now. There's too much. So she busies herself with removing her own clothing until they're both stripped down. He wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her to him. They're both covered in sweat, stinking of adrenaline and fear to the point where Kara figures it doesn't matter. He doesn't have to know that the way her hands shake is from his skin on hers and the way he holds her to him so possessively.

"Gods, Kara," he says before she puts her hands on either side of his face and pulls his gaze to hers once more.

"Shut up, Lee." And this time he does.

She puts her hands on his shoulders and, with a soft bounce on her toes, she hoists herself up, legs wrapping around his waist, his hard length pressed between them. The look in his eyes... he looks like a little boy who's been handed a piece of chocolate cake. She closes her eyes and shifts her weight, knocking him off balance slightly until he has to step backward to save them from falling. His back hits the wall of the launch tube and she sighs, reaching between them to guide him in.

She sinks onto him and a soft whimper rises from his throat. Her finger is on his lips before he can speak, shushing him even more with her gaze than with the gesture. She rises above him and then sinks slowly back down, one hand still at his lips, the other wrapped around his neck. Gods, this was... this was... a hell of a lot more than she had bargained for.

Kara was always one for a good frak after a fight like that. But this wasn't just a frak. It couldn't ever be just a frak with Lee. He was so godsdamned _complicated_.

His hands go to her hips, digging into her skin. There'd probably be bruises there in a few hours. Neither one cares. They move together. He closes his eyes, leaning into her. He rests his forehead against hers as she arches into him, leveraging herself in a steady rhythm with a heel digging into the small of his back that will probably just as big a bruise.

He can't. He can't stand it anymore. He turns them, banging her roughly against the wall. She gasps, locking her eyes with his once more and rubbing a hand against the back of her head.

"Ow?"

"Shut up, Kara."

He drives into her and she moans. With every thrust they work each other higher, the tension strung between them like someone tuning piano wire. And Kara knows what happens when it breaks. Bad things happen if you're too close to it when it breaks.

She's crumbling. Things are coming down around her. There's nothing but Lee. Lee driving into her, Lee's hands everywhere, Lee pinning her to the wall with his weight and his eyes and his unbearably unbreakable love.

She shatters, crying out his name again and again. Her voice in his ear, his name on her lips in that tone undoes him completely and he comes hard, his whole body pitching against her. He nestles his nose against her ear, wrapping her in his arms, and whispers one word: "Kara."

*

Cally smiles, dropping a wrench to cover the noise so the XO won't hear. Tigh continues on his post-flight inspection without even a hesitation. It was something knuckledraggers were particularly skilled at—masking all the covert operations that really went on around the hangar deck.


End file.
